In my life I taught four women to drive and I consider myself not an amateur in this area. I thought… Until my wife demanded the keys to the family car. How I taught my wife to drive. How to teach your wife to drive a car. Probably, sooner or later, all men are faced with the need to independently teach how to drive their other half from scratch, or to correct the knowledge she acquired in a driving school.
Personally, at different times in my life, I taught as many as four women to drive, including my own mother-in-law, and I consider myself not an amateur in this area. I counted. Until his wife, shaking brand new rights, did not demand the keys to the family car. To be honest, I didn't want her to drive at all. She is not all right in this regard with heredity. The wife is all about her father, a wonderful man, but the driving style leaves much to be desired. The reaction is instant, but the exact opposite of the one needed. At one time, his wife's father set a record - he crashed six cars in a year. He himself always got off with light scratches. You understand that I am not satisfied with such statistics, especially since my wife was going to take the children to kindergarten and school, and, therefore, endanger them. In addition, the wife is fantastically lacking the concept of "right" and "left", like many women, I suppose. But in her this defect took on the same pathological forms. At my shout "Left!", she convulsively turned on the right turning lamp, put her left hand out the window, shouted "Right!" … Guess where she turned? That's right, nowhere, she continued to go straight, because for all these manipulations she managed to slip through the turn. At the same time, very pleased with herself, she muttered to herself something about how beautifully she would turn in the right direction next time, but everything was repeated.
When we hit the busy streets, my wife enthusiastically took to driving. She reminded me of the bell ringer in the bell tower. Hands and feet darted in different directions, the face gathered in a duck tail, eyes thoughtlessly searched the space. Pedestrians and cars overtaking from behind inspired her with genuine horror, her wife, along with the car, shied to the side, and squeezed into the curb, waiting for this nightmare. Considering that all these escapades were performed on a BMW of the seventh model, then I, sitting next to me, sometimes wanted to burn out with shame. My wife and the car reminded me of the mammoth Ellie from Ice Age 2, who thought she was a possum. An hour later, I felt as if I had unloaded a carriage.
Photo: London Flash Cars